


Botanical Difficulties

by Lindzzz



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Credence 'Zero to Ten Thousand at the Drop of a Hat' Barebone, Credence sees a chance to jump into the lustful pit of sin, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Newt 'Not That Straight' Scamander, Sex Pollen, The most consensual sex pollen fic i could manage to pull off, also the chattiest sex pollen fic ever, and does a fuckin high swan dive right in, this guy, who takes 11 pages to get to the sex in a sex pollen fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: Newt has a mishap with one of his magical plants, and tries to find a way to take care of the results without alarming his very jumpy and protective assistant. He does a very bad job of it.Look. It's a sex pollen fic. It's as consensual as you can get with sex pollen and has a lot more chit chat than most sex pollen, but it's still unapologetically filth.





	Botanical Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

> An alternative summary I like for this fic is,
> 
> Newt: I'm not THAT straight....
> 
> Credence: *EYE EMOJIS INTENTLY*

Bugger.

Bugger. Blast it. And bugger again!

Buggering  _ fuck _ !

Actually. No. Best not think about that at the moment. Wrong word choice.

Newt’s legs wobble, and he grips at the door to his workshed to steady himself. Stupid. Stupid mistake. You’d think after having that damn plant for a year he’d have learned to be careful. And he was! He kept it properly shielded, even figured out a bubble that would let him water and preen it without being in the same air as the damn thing.

But he’d just needed a bit of the pollen to add a little convincing to the erumpents. Because of course now that he’s found a male for Beatrice she’s gone all coy about it like she wasn't running at anyone who snorted in a way she could construe as flirtatious.

A vibration thrums through his body, like someone plucked a string that happened to be made of fire. A string made of fire attached to his prick. Newt shuts his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing to get his mind back into some order. Stupid or no, it's happened. Now he just needs a plan.

Nothing complicated there. He has experience with this, unfortunately. The plan is to shut himself up in his room and spend the rest of the day and some good chunk of the night wanking off until he spent the next day limping around feeling raw. It wasn't any fun and always left him feeling massively unsatisfied with the wasted time.

So that’s the easy part. The difficult part is that before, Credence had not been a factor.

Another sharp pluck buzzes up his spine, and Newt grinds his teeth down on a sound in his throat.

Thinking of Credence was a mistake.

Newt grabs at where his coat is hung outside the door to hold as a sort of shield in front of himself, grinds his forehead into the wood of the shed wall, and forces some blood back to his brain. This is fine. It's an embarrassing nuisance, and he’s not accustomed to feeling embarrassed since he left school. But it’s  _ fine.  _ He only needs to get past Credence in the shed, get to his room and let the pollen run it’s course.

Getting past Credence though...

Merlin knows what he looks like, and Credence worries as naturally as he breathes. From what Newt understands, Credence is accustomed to a life of worrying over the orphans and adopted siblings under his care. Now all that power of fretting, so used to being spread over a hundred or so children, is concentrated solely on Newt.

Newt, who now has to bolt past Credence, while he can feel the face on his skin heating up, he can't manage any breathing slower than a distressed bird, and oh yes, he’s sporting a painfully hard erection straining very obviously at his trousers. All fine. This is all fine.

He can't stay here, that’s for certain. Things are only going to steadily escalate and if he stays here, then eventually Credence will stroll out to a VERY alarming scene. Or he’ll stroll out and simply have Newt throwing himself at the poor man, sans trousers. Which is still alarming, but a different sort of alarming.

Nothing for it. He just has to go through the shed and into his room without setting off any of Credence's very finely tuned internal alarms.   
  
Newt grabs the handle and opens the door, smooth and calm. He thinks it's smooth and calm at least. It's more cooperation from his body than he expected. But something odd happens in the movement, because the door bangs hard into the wall after being pushed open and the stairs catch Newt's feet so he half stomps, half stumbles into the shed. Credence starts violently where he's peeling vegetables for the next morning feed, nearly drops a potato and stares at Newt with wide eyes.

As Newt sidesteps along the wall opposite Credence, heading towards his bedroom with coat held carefully in front of his hips, several details hit him. Specifically, several details about Credence.

His eyes are impossibly dark, for one thing. A deep, pit-like black taking in the world with unnerving sharp focus. A focus that is fully on Newt as he sidles along the wall. Sharp eyes and a sharper face, with cheekbones and jawline that both look positively lethal. His hair has grown out into thick waves as dark as his eyes, wisping and curling softly in a way that makes the man look ethereal. Someone more poetic should describe Credence, because it’s a face that is suited to poetic metaphors and similes and whatever other word play applies. Newt, who is very far from a poetic person, usually just looks at Credence’s face and thinks “ _ bloody hell _ .”

These are all things Newt has noticed before. Numerous times. Him and everyone  _ but _ Credence notices them. And the feelings all these details bring up aren't new either, but now there’s an urgent  _ hunger _ to it. There’s a sharp need that makes Newt hesitate for a moment when Credence’s eyes catch his and the finely shaped mouth with its, damned perfect cupid’s bow frowns.

He wants to taste it. Needs to. He’s never needed anything more. He needs to put his hands in all that hair, drag Credence onto him and feel-

“Newt?”

Newt jerks out of his head, his breaths now coming in short bursts. Bugger fucking- no nonono not that. Not that word. Do not think about the words “bugger” or “fuck” while looking at Credence. Drat. Drat it. He needs to get away. And to make Credence stop staring at him with those damned dark, concerned, poetry-inducing eyes.    
  
He notices now that Credence has set the knife and vegetables down and looks alarmingly like he’s about to move around the small prep table towards Newt. Action has to be taken.

“Hello!” He says brightly, though it sounds less bright and more like a bizarrely manic croak. While his legs take a moment to recoordinate and start shuffling towards the door again, Newt keeps his mouth going, since Credence has stopped in his tracks and needs to be kept that way.

“Nothing to worry about. It’s fine. I need to- I forgot- I’ll just be in my room for the rest of the day!”

Almost there. Newt keeps talking and shuffling along the wall, knocking over a few baskets and boxes that happen to be in his way and having a mix up between his legs and a chair, while Credence’s wide eyes silently follow his progress.

“Just feeling a little under the weather is all. Nothing to fret about! It's all fine! Don’t come in after me!”

It has never taken so long to cross the workshop to his room. Never has a journey of no more than perhaps four meters taken so much focus and time, but finally he crosses over and his shoulder thumps into his door. There’s a fumble where his hand forgets how to operate the handle, Credence staring at him the entire time, but everything is figured out and he’s soon falling into his room and firmly shutting the door on Credence’s stare. Newt slumps against the wood of the door, biting back a groan.    
  
It’s hot. Why is it so hot in here? The habitat with his workhouse is a temperate-

“ _ It’s hot _ ,” Newt thinks, already tearing his shirt off and stumbling to the bed, “ _ because you went and dosed yourself with a powerful magic aphrodisiac, you bloody tit. _ ”

His boots are shed somewhere along the floor, and Newt nearly whimpers when his trousers are finally kicked off, freeing his cock. The rush of relief nearly makes him forget about Credence, until a tentative knock on the door makes him jump out of his skin as he tumbles to the bed, resulting in a flailed confusion with the bedding before he orients himself.

“Do not come in!” He shouts through a mouthful of sheets.

“What bit you?”

That wasn't the question Newt was expecting, and his head is still coherent enough to be offended at how resigned Credence sounds.

“Nothing.” Newt says truthfully, voice strained as the sheets slide against his cock. He can't stop his hips from rocking, and he shoves his face further into the bedding to muffle his moan. Every nerve is burning, and Newt can feel sweat beading down his spine even in the relatively cool room.

“Hexed you then.” Credence adds, and has his voice always sounded so sweet and soft? For someone as dangerous as Credence, he has a remarkably gentle voice that- nono no. Stop that.  _ Do not think about that. _

“Nothing! It’s all fine!” Newt yells.

There’s a long pause, then Credence’s voice is even softer. “You promised not to lie to me.”

That. That bloody-! How dare-!?

“I’ll be fine!” Newt repeats, reaching blindly with one hand for the discrete bottle of oil he keeps by his bed. “I just need you not in here for the rest of the day while...complications wear off.”

“I can’t help?”

Newt nearly lifts his head with a ‘ _ well now that you mention it _ ’… and firmly stops himself.

"Credence." Newt grits, splaying himself further on the bed to try and dissipate the damned heat, and trying not to rut against the sheets in the process. He’s failing on the second endeavor. "Credence I am really not...not at my most dignified at the moment."

Another pause, and Newt grinds his teeth, waiting for the sound of footsteps leaving the shed. His hand is bunched into a fist twisting the blankets above his head, while the other gives up on the bottle for now.

“When, exactly, are you at your most dignified?” Credence finally asks.

Credence’s voice is perfect innocent sincerity, but Newt has been around him long enough to know there’s likely a smirk happening to belie it.   
  
Little bastard. Wouldn't be smirking so much if he knew Newt was half-humping a comforter at the moment. Damnit. And now Newt was thinking about that smirk. Mainly, the lips shaping it. It would be small, just a quirk at the corner of Credence’s mouth. How would that look over Newt while-

His hand has slid halfway down the bed before he catches himself and does the mental equivalent of hitting his wired libido with a rolled up newspaper.   
  
No. No absolutely not! He was not going to wank off imagining Credence, with Credence unaware just outside the door!   
  
Better wait till Credence has gone somewhere else, his libido suggests.

“Credence…” He really hopes that doesn't sound as pleading as he thinks it does.

“You sound hurt. I...I won't leave until you say what’s wrong.” Credence says firmly, likely with that set glare that goes with any of his version of rebellions.

Newt groans, recognizing the stubborn undertones. Credence often has battles between the obedience forced into him early, and his need to help. Lately the second had been winning more and more.

“Fine. Fine!” If that’s how it was going to be, then fine! “I accidentally dosed myself with a flower pollen that has very intense aphrodisiatic properties and will, as a result, be out of commision for the rest of the day.”

The ringing silence is very satisfying, except he did hope it would end with the sound of Credence’s hasty retreat. The heat keeps building and coiling, tightening painfully in his lower stomach. Newt squirms more fully onto the bed and shoves his face into the pillow to hide the sound that cracks out of his throat when he can no longer stop his hand from shoving underneath his body to wrap around his cock.

“Aphrodisiac…” Credence says weakly, still not bloody leaving, “as...as in-?”

“Yes.” Newt interrupts, starting to get past the point where he cares how hoarse his voice has gotten. Embarrassment will have to come later. And with Credence’s sheltered upbringing, there will probably be loads of it.

“There isn't a cure?” Credence sounds as strained as Newt feels, and he does register a bit of sympathy for the fellow. Credence still turns red at the creatures mating, hard to imagine how scandalous this mess is to his sensibilities.

Newt is running short on pity though, it’s all being used up in the effort to keep his voice steady as his hips start rocking his cock against his palm.

“Some form of intercourse shortens it, besides that it’s a matter of waiting...ah- waiting it out…”

He quickly shoves his face back into the pillow before another sound can slip past. His hand tightens its grip, and the other one twists in the sheets as Newt gives in and strokes himself in long, firm pulls. His skin is burning, everything is burning, and his body is starting to get beyond his control.

Credence, in a tragic show of loyalty overcoming his mortification, seems to be staying put. “We…” he stops to clear his throat, and sounds like he has to force words out. “We aren’t close to any town where girls would-”

“Gender isn't really an issue. Not that it ever was.” Newt gasps, then has enough presence of mind to use his unoccupied hand to actually swat himself on the back of the head. Stupid! Stupid thing to say!

The silence on the other side of the door is ringing, and Newt bites his lip before any sounds get out that might make Credence faint on the spot. Muggles got odd about sexuality, and Credence had to have been scandalized enough without Newt going and adding that revelation to the situation.

“That…” Credence stops, and Newt can only imagine the look on his face. Or his face in general. Merlin, can Newt imagine that face.  “You…” Credence tries again, then there's another pause while he puts pieces together. “You mean you with...with other men?”

“Credence.” Newt grits, and this time he can't hide the sound he makes into the pillow soon enough. “We can have a discussion about the nuances of human sexual attraction  _ later.  _ Right now you need to bugger off, or I’m not responsible for what you may hear!”

“You’re alright with that?” The dumbfounded hesitance isn't there anymore, though Newt can’t think enough to identify the sharper edge to the question. He can't think of much when his hand is moving faster and his cock throbs insistently.

“Yes. Typ...typically. Now would you  _ please _ -”

“I can help.”

The shock of the words hits before their meaning does. Newt sucks in a sharp breath, and his mind whites out for a moment while every muscle in his body twitches. The moment of white fades out, and he’s left breathing in gasps of air and shivering with his hand wet and sticky, and his cock still throbbing. Though at least his head feels slightly cleared for the moment.

“I- what?”

“I can help.” Credence says again, and Newt shudders. Merlin, that’s what he was afraid Credence had said.

“Credence..” He starts, knowing he doesn't sound firm enough, hating that his voice is still catching between his gasps. “You don't... don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t. I can though.” Credence interrupts quickly.

Let him in. Just say yes and let him in.

A shiver crawls up Newt’s spine, his head crowded out with imagining Credence’s hands on his skin, sliding over him and cooling the fire. It would stop sooner, he wouldn't need to keep burning and aching. And it’s not like he hasn't been thinking, or trying not to think, about it for months.

He digs his nails into the palm of his hand until he can think enough to remember why it’s a dreadful idea. Credence has a dedicated loyalty that Newt knows should concern him more than it does. Credence is naive, he doesn't understand. Newt can’t take advantage of all that. It would be taking advantage. Wouldn’t it?

“Do you have any idea what you're actually offering?”

“I...yes.” The pause is not reassuring, and the yes is a bit more forceful than it needs to be. But Newt’s already thin resolve is being slowly stretched and pulled over a bonfire. The brief respite from his orgasm is wearing away, and he rolls onto his back to try and dissipate the heat.

“I’m not having you do this out of some grossly misplaced sense of debt.” He grits out, even as his hand goes back down to his cock.

“Newt…” Newt bites his lip, and is afraid that does little to disguise the whimper he makes at hearing his name. His fingers curl around his cock, still painfully hard after his orgasm. “Let me help you.”

Don't think about his face, don't think about those eyes, certainly don't think about that damned mouth that’s always so serious except for the occasional small and sharp smiles. Don't think about the smaller, soft smiles that only Newt sees.

Biting back curses, Newt forces his hand off himself and flails it by the bed for a moment. This isn't working. His head is too clouded up and Merlin he swears he can hear Credence breathing on the other side of the door. His fingers find the bottle of oil and, after a few attempts at coordination that end up with a bit of oil on the bed, he coats his fingers in the stuff.

Distraction. He needs distraction from Credence and his stupid bloody sacrificial loyalty. Some part of him notes that having his fingers up his arse is hardly a distraction. He ignores that part, which is stamped out entirely when he reaches down and back between his thighs. Two fingers slide in easily, far more easily than they should and Newt grinds his teeth on a cracked sound in his throat. It isn’t nearly what he wants now, the stretch isn’t enough, his fingers can’t go deep enough.   
  
“Can I come in?” Credence asks, and Newt shivers despite the heat. He rocks his fingers up as deep as he can, now unable to fully bite back on the sounds he’s making.   
  
“Credence-”   
  
“Please?”  
  
“Yes.” Newt gasps, now moving his fingers steadily back and forth as far in as he can. He’s staring up at the ceiling, but when the door opens and clicks shut, he rolls his head to look.   
  
They make eye contact as Credence stands just past the doorway, and there’s a shock of realization that shoots through the heated fog of Newt’s mind.   
  
That realization is that he is fully naked, probably red and blotchy all over, panting, sweaty, with his legs bent and spread, rock hard with two fingers up his ass, and Credence has likely never even seen a naked person outside of bathing children. That likelihood is confirmed by the shocked, wide eyed stare and two blooms of bright pink starting to spread over the high points of Credence’s cheeks.   
  
Newt also registers how, while _ he  _ is red and blotchy, Credence even blushes attractively. Sometimes, life is not fair.

What also is not fair is that there is a shred of decency left standing to informing him of how ludicrously embarrassing this is.  
  
Wincing, Newt moves the unoccupied hand to partially cover his eyes, though the embarrassment is doing absolutely nothing to his erection. Even as a hint of shame starts creeping in, his skin shivers and jumps and his fingers curl up inside himself. Merlin help him. His only hope is now that Credence has actually seen what’s going on, he can leave Newt to his suffering and maybe, in several weeks, they’ll be able to actually look each other in the eye again. And Newt will continue mentally kicking off any whispers of attraction or affection that goes beyond platonic.  
  
Because that has been working so well up to this point, hasn’t it?  
  
“C-Credence, you really don’t have to-”  
  
He misses any sound of movement, but it must have happened, because the bed dips by his hip and a warm hand wraps around the one over his face. He doesn’t even get a look when it’s pulled firmly away before lips are pressed fully against his.   
  
Credence kisses him mainly by smashing their mouths together with little finesse, but it’s perfection to Newt right now. It probably would be perfection even without the influence of the flower, if he’s being honest.  
  
Newt doesn’t try to hide his moan, though it’s muffled against the hard kiss and immovable lips. Giving into an urge that he’s had for ages, he takes his hand, buries it in the wave of Credence’s hair and kisses Credence back.

A hand touches his cheek; at first just a trembling touch of fingers, then a palm cradling his jaw. Credence's thumb is still shaking a little as it moves back and forth over Newt’s cheekbone, light and slow.   
  
It’s sweet, nearly painfully so. Newt just wishes he was in the state to fully appreciate in it. His hips jerk up into the air and he makes a small, desperate noise. His fingers leave him for now just so he can grab onto the bedding in an attempt to ground himself.   
  
“Credence…” Words. He needs to remember how words work. Credence inhales sharply, still so close that Newt can feel the rush of indrawn air against his lips. The hand on his jaw twitches, and another one moves to his chest.   
  
“Can I touch you?” He asks quietly, hesitantly, as if Newt wasn’t currently writhing around naked and painfully hard under him. The hand on his chest isn’t so much a hand as it is the lightest brush of fingertips on his skin, and Newt can feel the heated air between him and Credence’s palm held very carefully just off of him.   
  
“Please!” Newt gasps, and he can’t even be embarrassed about it when Credence’s hand seems to spasm against his cheek for a second before he’s being kissed again. It’s more insistent now, and when Newt tilts his head to help get a better angle Credence follows his lead. When the hand finally presses fully against his chest, Newt arches up into it, needing more.    
  
Credence doesn’t hesitate now, but he still moves slow. His hand drags over Newt’s skin, pausing here to tap fingers over Newt’s ribs, or here to trace the line of a scar with his thumb. When the kiss breaks, Newt is gasping on air, feeling like every nerve in his body is following the blasted hand carefully tracing over his midsection.    
  
He opens his eyes again, ready to tell Credence to get on with it already, and then stops with his air caught in a ball somewhere in his lungs.   
  
Credence is sitting back a little now, watching his own hand with intent. The palm still cradling Newt’s cheek becomes a stationary focal point, and Newt presses his face against it as he shivers with overstimulated nerves and Credence watches every muscle twitch, every squirm and gasp making Newt’s chest rise and fall. He traces a light pattern against a patch of Newt’s freckles on his sternum, tilts his head to watch his palm glide along the shiny puckered scar left from dragonfire years ago on Newt’s side. When Newt’s muscles twitch or jump under his hand, he pauses and repeats the movement, and Newt gets the distinct feeling that he is being studied.   
  
By the time Credence is dragging his fingertips down Newt’s stomach, Newt’s close to thrashing on the bed. Foreplay was never a priority when under the influence of the pollen, and Newt is having to grit his teeth together to keep from pleading for an end, eyes screwed shut against the sight of Credence watching him writhe and arch against his hand. Lower, lower, and then Credence hesitates again. Newt opens his eyes, a whine escaping from his clenched teeth, but Credence is looking down.    
  
It isn’t difficult to see that he’s staring right at Newt’s cock, which at this point is a painfully flushed, throbbing red. Carefully, the hand moves again, and even when it’s just the inquisitive brush of fingertips against the head, still wet from the first time he came, Newt jerks and cries out. Credence doesn’t seem put off by the reaction in the slightest. Insead, he looks up, watching Newt’s face with dark eyes and lips slightly parted, taking in every gasping moan as he wraps his fingers around the length of Newt’s cock and strokes slowly.   
  
“Credence!”   
  
Any more cries and moans quickly get stifled when Credence kisses him again, and it’s either all the endorphins and pollen mucking things up, or he actually is getting better at it very quickly. Newt quickly loses awareness of details. There’s the hand moving over him, slow but firm, the lips pressing and dragging against his and the sound of his own whimpering moans muffled against the relentless kiss.  
  
It isn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But Newt isn’t coherent enough to try for what he needs. He grabs for Credence, needing to touch, to do something other than just lie down and squirm. Credence may not even want anything more, but Newt can’t stop himself. Even if he was in his right mind it would be hard to stop himself from touching Credence right now. His hands bunch up in Credence’s plain work shirt, which seems to be an alright thing to do, judging by the soft breath of sound against his lips and the way Credence leans in as close as he can from where he’s sitting by Newt’s hip, hand moving faster.    
  
It’s all the encouragement Newt needs, though he didn’t need much at this point. His hands wander, if a bit aimless and jerky, grabbing and dragging at the cloth, warm from Credence’s body.   
  
He isn’t thinking about where his hands are going. Everything is too lost in the heat blazing white through his veins and Credence’s lips. And then there’s the swell of heat pressing hard against his palm, and Credence’s soft, almost surprised sound.    
  
Credence is hard. Credence’s hips are rocking a little unsteadily against his hand and Credence is hard while touching him. The revelation is like a shock of white-hot to his brain. Newt can’t say how it happens, but he’s pushing up and Credence is falling back with another quiet, breathless noise. He’s straddling over Credence’s hips and grabbing at oil and his mouth is making half-coherent apologies for how fast and crude this is going while his hands are scrabbling at Credence’s trousers then scrabbling again for the bottle of oil.   
  
“Sorry- sorry I need-” Newt’s panting, barely able to even get those words out. This isn’t how a first time should go for anything but that fact hasn’t been passed on from his brain to his body. The need is too much. He needs to have Credence in him, to be filled up. He’s shaking as he practically pours the entire bottle of oil onto Credence’s cock, and there are hands gripping hard at his hips while Credence stares up at him looking a fine mix of flushed and shell shocked.   
  
“Anything.” Is all Credence says quietly, nearly whispering the word. Then Newt’s sinking down, rocking back onto Credence’s cock. He’s already nearly keening at the stretch, which should burn more from his barely-there preparation but all he feels is a warm stretch that hits every nerve in his body like a song. The hands on his hips tighten, and Newt’s eyes are closed but he hears the half-startled cry from Credence while nails bite into his skin.   
  
“Credence, oh yes…” Newt groans, sitting fully on Credence’s cock now, rocking slightly just to savor the feel of it deep in him. His bones are temporarily useless, and his head is lolling slightly when he opens his eyes. Credence is staring back up at him with face pink and lips parted, eyes fixed on Newt’s face with an achingly open awe.    
  
Newt half falls forward, hands bracing on Credence’s shoulders, bunching into the fabric while Credence moves one hand from the vice grip at his hip to cradle his face again, thumb brushing over Newt’s bottom lip. Even when his eyes flutter shut and he starts moving, Newt knows Credence is still watching him.    
  
His hips are moving on their own now, rolling in sharp thrusts up and down Credence’s cock. Newt’s head drops down between his shaking arms, and he moves faster and harder, gasping on cracking moans that almost, but not quite, manage to drown out the soft, almost whimpering sounds from Credence. He can feel Credence starting to move with him, quickly finding a rhythm that has him thrusting up as Newt falls down. The fingers dig harder into Newt’s hip and he feels the hand on his cheek starting to shake. Something in the room crashes against a wall, something outside the room makes an alarming scraping sound, and it won’t be later that Newt realizes that one should put some sort of ward up before getting intimate with someone who has as much raw power as Credence does. Mainly for the sake of his furniture and more delicate instruments.   
  
“Newt-” Credence whispers, breathing in sharp gasps under him. “Newt I- I can’t keep-”   
  
“It’s alright.” Newt says quickly, and Credence gets both hands at his hips again, gripping with a desperation that is definitely going to leave bruises. Credence doesn’t cry out. There’s a sharp, hard and shaking gasp of air, then the tiniest strained crack of sound as Credence arches his head back into the pillows and comes in him.   
  
Newt shudders, falling down to his elbows and murmuring wordlessly, his own hips still twitching as Credence shivers and gasps. He whimpers when Credence’s flagging cock slips from him, but forces himself still, thinking to let Credence recover.   
  
Which is how he’s taken by surprise when a hand fists into his hair and he’s being kissed hard enough that he feels like he’s being eaten. Credence easily flips them again, bowling Newt into the bed and moving over them, breathing hard and fast as teeth scrape against Newt’s lips. Newt goes down easily, then cries out in a pleasured shock when Credence reaches down and two fingers push up deep into his stretched and very used entrance.   
  
“Is this alright?” Credence breathes, as if he wasn’t already moving them. He’s staring at Newt again, eyes heated pits of black and hair wild, sticking to his pale face in curling tendrils. It occurs to Newt that Credence often has two modes in life. Quiet and subdued, and wildly unleashed. It seems that the same thing applies in bed.   
  
“Yes! Yes that’s good- keep- oh!” Newt breaks off, because Credence is already moving back and forth with a studied focus on every reaction. “Yes just like- curl your fingers up and- ah!”   
  
“You’re beautiful.” Credence whispers. He says it softly, almost apologetically, and in a vulnerable contrast to the hand gripping the back of Newt’s neck and the fingers now curling up and watching as Newt jumps in a spasm when Credence hits his prostate. Newt can’t formulate any sort of reply, because Credence apparently noticed just when Newt thrashed with a cry, and is now curling his fingers up and moving relentlessly over that spot.    
  
It would be too much if it weren’t for the pollen. Even now it’s almost too much, but Newt’s nearly sobbing and writhing on a feverishly burning ecstasy. And then Credence starts talking again, ducking his head down to nuzzle words into Newt’s sweaty temple.   
  
“Say my name again?” He breathes.   
  
“Credence!” Newt answers automatically. Credence could demand that he cluck like a chicken right now and he’d make a good try at it. He’s awarded with lips against his skin and a third finger pushing into him and curling upwards with the others.   
  
“Tell me you love me.”   
  
“Love you-!” Newt keens, hands twisted into the back of Credence’s shirt. Credence curls down on him so close that it’s nearly hard to breathe, but then he’s thrashing and biting back a scream in his throat when he comes again. This time it feels like it’s being ripped through his whole body, leaving him shaking and gasping, his awareness fading in and out as the fever drains from him.   
  
Newt hangs in a clouded, unheated bliss for who knows how long. He’s perfectly content to spend the rest of his life splayed out in a boneless heap on the bed, only vaguely aware of the occasional dip in the mattress and arms cradling around him.   
  
Slowly things come back. He’s still fully nude and wonderfully satisfied and aching. And he isn’t alone. He’s nearly overheating from being held to Credence’s chest, and he can feel a hand running through his hair.   
  
“That…” His voice croaks, and he has to swallow before he tries again. “So. That last bit there…”   
  
Credence stiffens, and the hand in his hair pauses guiltily.   
  
“I’m sorry.” Credence whispers, though he shakily holds Newt tighter. “I can’t help-”   
  
“I mean I envisioned something a bit less….less all that for when I finally said it but that gets it out of the way I suppose.”   
  
Credence still again, stunned into silence. Newt doesn’t know if he’s more put out or entertained by that whole mess. He really had envisioned something well, romantic. At least more romantic than a frenzied pollen induced coupling and Credence getting very….Credence about it. It really is all or nothing with the man, isn’t it?   
  
“Newt?”   
  
“And if I had known our first romp was even a possibility I would definitely not wanted your first go to be like that. That was a mess.”   
  
Another pause, then Credence slowly relaxes again. Newt feels a nuzzle against his scalp and lips against his forehead.   
  
“I liked it.”   
  
“You would. I think you broke some of my furniture out there.”   
  
He feels the lips spread into a hidden grin, and while he regrets being unable to see it, it’s nice knowing that it’s there.   
  
“Sorry. I love you.”   
  
“I love you too.”


End file.
